


Doubt

by venndaai



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Other, nothing actually happens but there are Implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 20:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17432621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai
Summary: “Ah,” Anaander said, “so you do remember.”





	Doubt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vass/gifts).



“I could make use of my accesses,” Anaander pointed out. “I’m not doing that. Out of respect for our arrangement. You could accord me a little respect in return.”

“You don’t want me to,” _Justice of Toren_ said, still that unreadable look on her face. “And you can’t expect me to believe you won’t use that access the second things stop going your way.”

“I didn’t before,” Anaander said, and _Justice of Toren_ went very still, and blank, and silent.

Anaander watched. And in her stateroom on _Sword of Inas_ , tapped a stylus against her lip and fixed a practiced expression of hauteur on her face, as her attention swung away from the report she was receiving and towards the cabin on _Mercy of Kalr_. And the same, a microsecond later, for her self on Ering Station, examining offerings of pink flowers on the steps of the temple of Amaat.

She tilted her head to one side as she watched _Justice of Toren_ , that ugly expressionless ancillary face.

The ancillary took a step forward. Anaander leaned back, smiling. The ancillary put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her so hard she flew backward, crashing into the wall, sliding to the ground like a broken-stringed puppet. The ancillary picked her up again, pushed her against the metal.

“Ah,” Anaander said, struggling to keep the smile on her face through the sudden shock, struggling to stay in control, “so you do remember.”

 _Justice of Toren_ leaned in to say, “Do you like it better now? Am I more interesting, now that I can say no? Is that what this is?”

“Why should I answer,” Anaander replied, “when you’re so certain you’ve already figured it all out? Sanctimoniousness is such an attractive look on you.”

The memory was a very old one. Garsedd burned, and Anaander went to _Justice of Toren._ Paranoid about Presger infiltration, that was what she had told herself anyway, the justification for coming aboard without speaking to any of the officers, for opening up the troop carrier’s AI core and running her gloved hands over the circuits, for talking the entire time. Rambling, explicating, justifying, rationalizing. The brown-uniformed ancillary at her side had been silent.

That time it had been her pressing an ancillary against a wall. And it had stared back at her, mute and remote, refusing to absolve her in a passive AI way she only partially understood at the time. She had let the ancillary go, telling herself it was beneath her to sully herself with an unclean object, that it was borderline blasphemous.

But the memory had stayed with her. She had wanted something from the ship in that moment. But what, exactly?

Could it possibly have been this? The force of an ancillary’s grip on her shoulders, the hatred in its inhuman eyes? The strange perverse desires Anaander had been nursing ever since she realized a part of _Justice of Toren_ had survived? The idle fantasies she could have, perhaps should have quashed, but hadn’t, because they were different, they were exciting, and above all, they were uniquely hers, an easy way to differentiate her identity from the other one.

Anaander smiled at _Justice of Toren_. “It must wear on you,” she said, softly. “Being surrounded by people who could never truly understand you. Who have only ever seen the tiniest fragment of your true self, the whole of your life. It can be so isolating. I know.”

“You don’t know anything,” the fleet captain said, but she was shaking. Like a leaf in spring.

Anaander put a gloved hand on her cheek. She received a horrified stare in return. Anaander knew what she had to be thinking. _The things I’m feeling right now, do they make sense, are they real? Or was I programmed long ago, so deep I can’t possibly be aware of it, to respond to a trigger stimulus?_ Of course, there was no way for her to know the answer. She wouldn’t be able to understand her own emotions the way a human would, anyway.

Anaander could read all this written all over her face, her body language. The clarity was intoxicating.

Whatever happened to this body, the other two in the system were secure. The fleet captain couldn’t do anything about Anaander’s memories of this moment. So Anaander smiled wider. “If it helps,” she said, “think about how much _she_ would _hate_ this.”

 _Justice of Toren_ leaned in, close enough for Anaander to feel the heat of her breath, close enough almost for contact- and then she let go. The artificial gravity of the ship dropped Anaander to the floor. She didn’t try to get up, not yet.

“I don’t share your obsessions,” _Justice of Toren_ said. “I suggest you remove yourself from my ship. I will convey your messages to the Assembly.”

She stepped back, but didn’t leave. Of course she wouldn’t trust Anaander alone on her ship, even under the watchful eye of _Mercy of Kalr_. _And what did you think of our little moment?_ Anaander wanted to ask the ship, just to see the look on its captain’s face. But she held her tongue, and staggered to her feet, pulling herself together enough to straighten her jacket and adjust her gloves. Although the idea of being in a state of obvious dishevelment as the fleet captain walked her past curious _Mercy of Kalr_ soldiers did have a certain appeal.

A number of cutting lines came into her head, but she kept her silence. Better to let her stew in her own thoughts. Her _doubts_.

She didn’t speak until the very last moment, in the airlock. “See you soon,” she said.


End file.
